Sandokan: The King of the Sea (The Sandokan Series Book 5)

by Emilio Salgari

  Still the Dyaks advanced, scaling the ship’s sides, clambering towards their prey. But as the first men reached the bulwarks the air filled with cries of pain. Sharp thorns tore at their flesh and they fell back, dragging down those beneath them.

  But, though the attack on the port and starboard bulwarks had been thwarted, the Dyaks that had climbed up onto the bowsprit had found a clear path before them and easily breeched the ship’s defences.

  Spotting the thorns, they hacked at the bundles with a few swipes of their kampilans and tossed them into the sea, then a dozen men stormed onto the forecastle, howling in victory.

  “Fire!” shouted Yanez, having let them advance.

  The four swivel guns thundered in unison and a shower of nails swept the forecastle.

  The attackers fell as one man, torrents of blood streaming from their wounds as they writhed upon the deck, moaning in agony.

  Even so, the battle was far from over. Dyaks were swarming the ship from all sides, hacking away the thorns with their kampilans then storming the deck without pause, undaunted by the incessant barrage of nails raining down upon them.

  But once aboard, they could barely move, the caltrops strewn about the deck barring their path, the barbed spikes a crippling menace to their bare feet.

  Riggers and lookouts began to hurl grenades from the crow’s nest as they attempted to drive the attackers back with a thunderous shower of metal.

  Caught between two fires, unable to advance, the Dyaks had halted momentarily. A volley of grapeshot tore through their lines, felling several men. Gripped by sudden fear, those who had survived dove over the sides and quickly swam back towards the launches.

  “It appears they’ve had enough,” said Yanez, unshaken by the battle. “Perhaps now they’ll think twice before they try to measure themselves against the Tigers of Mompracem.”

  The Dyaks had been defeated. Pontoons and launches were fleeing towards the small islands at the mouth of the river, without replying to the Marianna’s volleys. The Portuguese quickly ordered his men to hold their fire, believing it dishonourable to fire upon an enemy that had broken and run.

  Ten minutes later, all that remained of the tiny fleet had disappeared up the river.

  “They’re gone,” said Yanez. “Let’s hope they leave us be.”

  “They’ll be waiting for us upriver, sir,” Sambigliong said.

  “And they’ll resume the fight,” added Tangusa, who despite his exhaustion, had rushed on deck at the sound of the first cannon blast to help defend the ship.

  “Think so?” asked the Portuguese.

  “I’m certain of it, sir.”

  “We’ll be ready, and we’ll teach them another lesson that’ll put an end to their attacks once and for all. How deep is the river? Can we sail to the banks of the kampong?”

  “Yes, sir. Provided the wind holds, we shouldn’t have any difficulties.”

  “How many men did we lose, Kickatany?” asked Yanez.

  “Four dead and eight wounded sir,” replied the ship’s doctor.

  “May the devil take the sherip and his band of wretches!” exclaimed Yanez. “Four good men gone,” he added with a sigh. Then turning toward Sambigliong, who appeared to be awaiting an order, added, “It’s almost high tide. Let’s try to get off this wretched sandbank.”

  Chapter 3

  On the Kabatuan

  THE WATER HAD been rising steadily for the last five hours, slowly covering the sandbank upon which the Marianna had been stranded.

  The time to break free was at hand and it appeared all would go well for the crew had discovered that her bow had shifted slightly. The ship was not yet afloat, but it would not take much effort to dislodge her.

  Once the caltrops had been gathered and put back in their crates and the decks had been cleared of the dead, the preparations began to kedge the ship off the sandbank.

  Two small anchors were tossed sixty paces off the stern, the hawsers were wound on to the windlass, then the sails were turned to take advantage of the breeze.

  “Man the windlass!” shouted Yanez, once all was ready. “We’ll be out of here in no time.”

  The ship began to creak and groan as the keel slowly rose with the swelling tide.

  Twelve men rushed to the windlass. Twelve more grabbed the hawsers to add their strength, and, at the Portuguese’s command, all began to pull.

  The anchors held and as they winched in the cables the Marianna began to slide along the sandbank, slowly turning to starboard as her sails filled with wind.

  “And we’re free!” Yanez exclaimed gleefully. “What a nice surprise for the pilot, when he awakens. Raise the anchors, brace the sails and head towards the river.”

  “We’re going in before dawn?” Sambigliong asked.

  “Tangusa assured me that there aren’t any sandbanks and that it’s wide and deep enough to accommodate our ship,” replied Yanez. “I’d rather start now and surprise the Dyaks; they certainly won’t be expecting to see us so soon.”

  A couple of men raised the two anchors, while the riggers quickly oriented the jibs and sails. Tangusa, who had not left the deck, had taken the wheel, being the only one familiar with the mouth of the Kabatuan.

  “Take us in, my good friend,” said Yanez. “Once we’ve reached the river, I’ll take the wheel and you can go below to rest.”

  “There’s no need, sir,” the former pirate replied. “Kickatany’s balms and medicines have worked wonders; I don’t feel a thing.”

  “Excellent!” exclaimed Yanez, as the Marianna cautiously turned away from the sandbank and began her advance towards the river. “You still haven’t told me how you were captured by the Dyaks.”

  “Those wretches didn’t give us much time to talk,” replied Tangusa, forcing a smile.

  “I take it they captured you outside the kampong.”

  “Yes, Señor Yanez. Tremal-Naik asked me to set up camp along the bay. I was to watch for your ship and guide you up the river.”

  “So he knew we’d rush to his aid.”

  “He had no doubt, sir.”

  “Where were you captured?”

  “On one of the small islands by the mouth of the river.”

  “When?”

  “Two days ago. Some men that had worked at the kampong recognized me; they attacked my rowboat and took me prisoner. They must have concluded that Tremal-Naik had sent me to the coast to wait for help. They interrogated me for hours, threatening to kill me if I refused to answer their questions. But I held firm and eventually those wretches grew tired of my silence. They tied me up, cut a few gashes in my arms and legs then threw me into a hole next to an ant hill.”

  “The dogs!”

  “You know how voracious white ants are, Señor Yanez. Drawn by the smell of blood, it wasn’t long before battalions of them had swarmed to the hole and begun to eat me alive.”

  “A torture worthy of savages.”

  “It lasted a quarter of an hour, the pain was unbearable. Fortunately they’d also started to gnaw away at my bindings; they’d been smeared with coconut oil so they’d tighten as they dried.”

  “So once they gnawed through your ropes, you escaped...” said Yanez.

  “As you can imagine,” Tangusa replied. “The Dyaks had gone; I rushed into the nearby forest, reached the river, found a boat and quickly sailed off. It was just moments later that I spotted your ship off in the distance.”

  “Well, I’d say you’ve been avenged!”

  “And for that I am grateful, Señor Yanez. Those savages deserved everything they got. Look!”

  He had spotted several bonfires dotting the shores of the small islands guarding the mouth of the river.

  “The Dyaks are keeping an eye on us, Señor Yanez,” he said.

  “I see them,” the Portuguese replied. “Can we sneak past them without being seen?”

  “We may be able to if we head up the far canal,” replied Tangusa, after carefully studying the mouth of the river. “There d
on’t seem to be any bonfires burning there.”

  “Is the water deep enough?”

  “Yes, but there are a few sandbanks in places.”

  “Ah! Devil it!”

  “No need to worry, Señor Yanez. I’m well acquainted with the area; we won’t have any problems reaching the Kabatuan.”

  “In the meantime we’ll prepare for a second attack,” the Portuguese replied, walking towards the forecastle.

  Driven by a light westerly breeze, the Marianna advanced quickly, scarcely touching the water as she made her way towards the mouth of the river. The rising tide would greatly facilitate her journey up the Kabutuan.

  The entire crew, except for two or three men assigned to care for the wounded, had gone to their battle stations, expecting the Dyaks to spring from the thick groves covering the islands and launch another attack at any moment.

  Tangusa, still at the wheel, knew every inch of the bay, and kept the Marianna far from the enemy bonfires lining the reefs. With a clever manoeuvre he steered the ship into a narrow canal that stretched between the coast and a small island. Cannons and swivel guns trained on both shores, the crew waited expectantly for the sentries to sound the alarm, but not a single cry broke the silence.

  “We’re on the river, sir,” he said to Yanez, who had come up beside him.

  “And still no sign of the Dyaks. Don’t you find that odd?”

  “They’re probably biding their time, waiting for the right moment.”

  “Yes,” said the Portuguese, nodding slowly. “They probably let us pass so they could ambush us on the river.”

  “It’s likely, Señor Yanez.”

  “How long before we reach our destination?”

  “Several hours, we won’t get there before midday.”

  “How far is the kampong from the river?”

  “Two miles.”

  “Through jungle, probably.”

  “Thick jungle, sir.”

  “Too bad Tremal-Naik didn’t build his farm a little closer to the river. We’ll have to divide our forces. Fortunately, every man aboard is a seasoned warrior; our Tigers fight just as well on land as they do on the decks of their prahus.”

  “Full ahead then, sir? We’ve got a good wind and the tide will be favourable for another hour or so.”

  “Yes, hold our present course, careful not to run the Marianna aground.”

  “No fear of that sir, I know the river well.”

  The ship sailed past a small sandbar and began to make her way upstream, a light breeze filling her enormous sails.

  That stretch of water, still uncharted, the Dyaks there being hostile to all foreign explorers, was about a hundred metres wide and gently meandered between tall banks lined with mango, durian and rubber trees. The jungle about them was dark and quiet, not a sound or movement to indicate their enemies were lurking nearby.

  At times a soft splash would reach their ears as a gavial, awakened from its slumber, would slide into those deep waters, frightened off by the approaching ship.

  Yanez did not find that silence reassuring; he doubled the lookouts, and relentlessly scanned for danger beneath the dark wall of trees.

  “They must have spotted us,” he murmured. “It doesn’t take a genius to realize they’re planning something, but whatever they’re up to, we’ll be ready for them.”

  Half an hour passed uneventfully; the Portuguese was beginning to think he had been mistaken, when he spied a streak of light shooting up over the canopy at the far end of the river.

  “A flare!” exclaimed Sambigliong.

  Yanez’s brow grew dark.

  “Where did these savages get flares?” he asked.

  “Captain,” Sambigliong said, “this proves the British are involved. These savages have never had them before.”

  “That sherip could have supplied them.”

  “Look! Over there!”

  Yanez quickly turned toward the bow and spotted a second flare tracking across the sky off towards the mouth of the river.

  “Tangusa,” he said. “Looks like Tremal-Naik’s enemies are preparing quite the welcome for us.”

  “It would appear so, sir,” the Malay replied.

  Minutes later they heard several voices cry out from the bow.

  “Fireflies!”

  “Torches?”

  “Look, up there.”

  “The river is on fire!”

  “Señor Yanez! Señor Yanez!”

  The Portuguese was on the forecastle in an instant; several men had already gathered there.

  Upriver the water was filled with light. A long line of bright dots stretched out before them, swirling in rows and clusters as they advanced with the current.

  Stunned, Yanez fell silent.

  “Some kind of natural phenomenon, Captain?” asked Sambigliong. “They can’t be fireflies.”

  “I don’t think so either,” replied Yanez, a deep frown lining his brow.

  Tangusa came up beside him, having quickly handed the tiller to one of the helmsmen.

  “Do you know what that is?” asked Yanez.

  “Torchlight, sir,” the Malay replied.

  “Torchlight? Impossible! There must be a thousand of them out there; the Dyaks have nowhere near enough ships to carry them all.”

  “Yet there’s nothing else they could be,” replied Tangusa.

  “But how? What could be keeping them afloat?”

  “Tree trunks, maybe. It’s hard to tell from this distance. Whatever it is, they’re getting closer; the Marianna could go up in flames.”

  “By Jupiter!” Yanez thundered loudly. “What kind of infernal trap is this?”

  “Captain, we should prepare the pumps as a precaution.”

  “Have the men grab every pole they can find, we’ve got to keep those flames at bay. Quickly, my Tigers, there’s no time to lose.”

  Dragged forward by the current, the blazing dots grew larger, covering the waters before them.

  They advanced in clusters, swirling with the eddies, arching and spiralling as they pooled into a long serpentine line of flame. Had his ship not been in danger, Yanez would have stopped to admire that dazzling play of light.

  A large number sailed forward along the banks, but the majority danced about the centre of the river where the current was strongest.

  How they stayed afloat no one could say; the shadows cast by the wall of vegetation lining the riverside made it too dark to see.

  Grabbing whatever beam, yard, spar or pole they could find, the crew had rushed to the Marianna’s sides to fend off that new danger. Several men had even been lowered over the sides in nets or in launches to better battle against the flames.

  “Keep to the centre of the river!” Yanez shouted to Tangusa who had gone back to take the wheel. “If the ship catches fire, we’ll head for shore.”

  The flames attacked in waves, swarming towards the Marianna, the ship advancing slowly, the wind having dropped to a breeze.

  “Bring me one of them,” said Yanez, addressing the Malays hanging above the water in one of the nets.

  The crew had quickly gone to work, poles and beams raining down upon the fiery menace growing ever larger before them.

  A Malay quickly scooped one out of the water and brought it to Yanez. That floating torch was nothing more than half a coconut shell filled with cotton soaked in resin.

  “The rascals!” the Portuguese exclaimed. “Coconuts! I never would have imagined! It’s brilliant! These Dyaks are growing more cunning by the minute! Tigers, keep those flames at bay! If this cotton sticks to the pitch, we’ll go up like kindling.”

  He tossed away the coconut and rushed toward the bow, where the danger was greatest, the flames swarming towards the stern in large numbers, threatening to ignite the Marianna’s sides.

  Their ship in peril, the Tigers worked without pause, fending off the waves of flames, drowning the tiny vessels before the fires drew too close. But from time to time a patch of burning cotton would stick t
o her boards and ignite the pitch, sending up thick clouds of acrid smoke.

  Had the Marianna been manned by a smaller crew her sides would have quickly been ablaze, but fortunately, she had ample Tigers to defend her. Whenever a plank caught fire, the flames were immediately doused with a blast of water from the pumps.

  That strange battle lasted half an hour then the sea of flames began to thin and soon the last of the shells sailed past, drifting off towards the mouth of the river.

  “What other surprises do they have in store for us?” asked Yanez, coming up by Tangusa’s side. “They’re certain to try again. Any thoughts, my friend?”

  “We won’t reach the kampong without a second battle, Señor Yanez,” the Malay replied. “The Dyaks will see to that.”

  “I’d prefer that, but I haven’t spotted so much as a launch yet.”

  “We still have a fair distance to go. Let’s hope the wind picks up soon, otherwise we may not arrive until tomorrow evening.”

  “Not the best situation. My Tigers, keep your eyes open and your weapons drawn. You can be certain those headhunters are watching our every move.”

  He lit a cigarette and sat on the stern bulwark, eyes fixed on the riverbanks.

  The wind continued to drop and it was not long before the Marianna slowed to a crawl.

  All was quiet. The jungle had thickened on either side of them; enormous branches stretched over the river, adding to the darkness, yet no one doubted that hidden eyes were following their every move.

  Having come so close to success, it was unlikely the Dyaks would abandon the fight without another attempt to avenge their defeat.

  They had gone another five or six miles when the Portuguese spotted several bright flashes racing among the trees. People were darting through the forest, carrying torches to light their path. Several hisses suddenly reached their ears.

  “Signals,” said Tangusa.

  “Yes,” the Portuguese replied uneasily. “What now?”

  “They’re up to something, sir, you can be sure of it. They’ll pull out every trick they have to keep us from reaching the pier.”

  “I’m starting to have enough of this,” said Yanez. “I’d rather face a direct attack.”